


Resurrection Redux

by Bonfoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Community: hpvamp, Draco-centric, Free Range Challenge II: The Return of the Vampire Bunny Challenge, M/M, Romance, Timeline Fic, Vampiric Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy's "biting" wit has been around a lot longer than anyone imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection Redux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grey_Hunter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Grey_Hunter).



> **Challenge:** HPVamp's [ Free Range Challenge II: The Return of the Vampire Bunny Challenge (2008)](http://hpvamp.livejournal.com/184265.html)
> 
> _Original request/Bunny_  
>  **Scenario:** Draco is a recidivist [originally: recidivous] offender. He has been AK-ed, hanged, Kissed, shot by a Muggle gun, whatever you can imagine. And he just keeps coming back! (Draco doesn't know he is a vampire, especially because he loses his memory after each 'death'. Harry is an Auror but he is the only one who is trying to save Draco from himself rather than condemn him at the first sight. For the others, Draco is on the quick way to become the Boggart in the cupboard. They don't know he is a vampire either, until the very end. Oh, and Draco isn't actually guilty in any of the things he has been sentenced to death for.)  
>  **Cool things:** crack or humour, keeping them still IC, Harry using the phrase "what's at stake"  
>  **Squicks:** hm... I think purple prose too serious romance wouldn't fit into this one. Humorous romance =  <3 (submitted by Grey_Hunter)

[Originally posted at HPVamp on LJ](http://hpvamp.livejournal.com/197328.html)

* * *

**_ Disclaimer:_** The world of Harry Potter, its characters and settings are the copyrighted works of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., her publishing companies and affiliates. No profit was made from the writing of this story nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author or the actors/actresses who so brilliantly have brought them to life. 

This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

**:: A time shrouded in mist, the edge of a Faery Forest ::**

The grey-eyed knight stood his ground, buckler flapping as he ducked the massive paws of the troll. His polearm had long shattered in the initial rush and he’d been fighting with his lord’s own amethyst-studded _glaive-guisarmes_ , trying to protect the son of the wizard—Lord Salazar Slytherin—who had ransomed him from the Dark Ones. His fine chainmail was rent by the glancing blows of the troll’s club and he was flagging fast. The troll bellowed and rushed the knight and he fell over the body of one of the foot-soldiers.

“Lord Slytherin,” he gasped. The sky was blue, so still, the knight couldn’t believe he’d die like this, pummeled to death by a troll. “Lord…forgive me!” he begged as he tried to stand, only the haft of the polearm still in his hand. A roar greeted his pleas and the next thing he knew, a solid shadow had felled the troll, ripping a swath of neck from between its head and chest. The stress of battle had been too much for his body and he dropped to his knees, bowed over the youngest son of Salazar Slytherin. 

The shadow resolved itself into that of a man of indescribable, terrible beauty. He glided over the rough, torn-up ground as if gliding over ice. The smell of blood slowly pumping from the knight’s body was so tantalizing, the shadowy man couldn’t restrain himself; the blood-lust of battle had tinted his vision and brought forth his fangs. The troll’s blood was nothing compared to the siren’s call of the knight’s sweet nectar. The man bent near, sniffing at the enticing scent, feeling the slow ebbing of life as it gurgled from the wound in the knight’s chest.

The being, a Vampyr, a creature of shadow and blood, was enthralled and began to drink deeply. In the knight’s blood, he found the story of the man…Draconis…the pain of lost family and friends…the redemption by Salazar Slytherin, the great Mage…honor at serving his Lord’s son…bravery at giving his life…each drop told of the man’s virtue and great heart. When the death rattles finally impinged upon the Vampyr’s ears, he couldn’t drain the knight completely dry; the blood he had drunk would not allow it. Instead, he Turned Draconis the Knight, weaving an ancient spell into the ritual that would allow the knight to return as a youth and grow old with each little death until he found what his heart desired….

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

**:: A small village, during the French Revolution ::**

The blond youth walked up the gallows steps as slowly as he could whilst being yanked forward by the thick, scratchy rope. He bit his lip, trying to stop its trembling; he wouldn’t give the plebeians the satisfaction of seeing a nobleman weep. He straightened his backbone and strode to the noose swinging in the faint breeze.

The priest scuttled forward, stinking of sacramental wine and fetid cheese. When he began the Last Rites, the blond spit in his face and sneered. “Get away from me, little man. God and I have spoken many times and **you** did not figure in the conversation.” He turned his cold grey eyes away from the quivering priest and stepped towards the noose, nearer the hangman. 

With a respectful bow, the hangman slipped the heavy noose over the aristocrat’s head, sliding the knot to rest behind his left ear. “If you would, le Comte,” he murmured and indicated the trapdoor. The blond took one step and was on the last door he would cross during his lifetime…or so they all thought.

A minor official of the Revolutionary Tribunal stood at a far corner and read out the charges against him: “Le Comte du Malfoi et Clune, you are charged with high treason against the people of France. You have squandered the natural rights of all men by imposing your will and your wishes upon the bodies and minds of those whose blood feeds the fields of France. It is the wish of this Tribunal that you, Comte du Malfoi et Clune, be hung by the neck until dead.” The crowd roared, but not with the anticipated glee—the Comte’s family had never abused their power, weaving the magic of their blood into the land and lives of all around them, protecting them.

The guards from Paris were being shoved back, some of them up the gallows steps. The minor official was shrieking, “PULL THE LEVER! PULL THE LEVER!” even as he jumped over the side rail. Somehow, someone pulled the lever, and Draco, Comte for only five years, was dead, the sound of his neck snapping a sickening vibration through all his people’s hearts.

The village folk tore apart the guards from Paris, scattering them to the four corners of their land, and erased their presence from the town. Matrons came out and laid their lord down gently on the cobblestones, smoothing back the hair from his brow and pressing kisses to his cold cheeks. They readied him for burial in the family crypt, certain that the next Comte would arrive soon.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

**:: 1888 London, during the reign of Queen Victoria ::**

“Draco, old man…I say, don’t be like that, you curst looby!” The voice grated on Draco Black’s ears, making him wince from the reverberation in his head. He put his hands over his ears and cringed away from the man making such an awful racket. The shrieking noise finally stopped.

Another voice, softer and less severe brushed across Draco’s exacerbated nerves. “Serves you right for sucking the damned wastrel’s blood, Black.” A thin-fingered hand, pale and soft, held a goblet of red wine and blood beneath Draco’s nose, tempting him to open his eyes and lap at the cup against his lips. With a sigh, he took his hands down and clutched the goblet and its reviving mixture.

The grating, irritating voice was back. “What a looby you are, Black!” it chided. “Never thought you’d be so far gone as to feast on a commoner like that…Damned shame you didn’t win his money as well as his rotten blood, though.” An auburn-haired man, perhaps thirty years of age sat slumped in a high-backed smoking chair, mutton-chop whiskers fluffed out like an irate cat’s tail. 

Feeling the wine-blood mixture begin its cleansing, Draco Black of the Black-Malfoy alliance leaned back against the cushions of the settee and closed his eyes. He let the empty goblet drop as he listed to the Dumbledore brothers bicker back and forth, this time with whispers instead of shouts.

“Albus…” Draco's voice was soft, yet it cut through the whispers like a knife through butter. “Albus…tell your swot of a brother that the next time he bets me anything, I’ll demand verification by more than ‘his bones’.” Albus Dumbledore shared a look with the vampire resting in his sitting room and then they both grinned. Draco’s laugh rang out, startling them all. “Aberforth, you, sir, are a scoundrel of the first water, you know that? How you always pick the nastiest morsels for me to snack upon, I’ll never know!” The blond shook his head, wincing once more as he felt the bad blood still working its way through his system.

Crossing his ankles, Albus looked at his best friend since Hogwarts and just smiled. Who would have thought a vampire would be so…picky? “You should know by now, Draco. Besides, didn’t you once say you had a cast-iron stomach? I thought vampires knew when to stay away from bad blood?” He sat up straighter to reach up and loosen the leather thong holding his auburn hair in a tail, shaking his head to fluff the tendrils into a fiery cascade on his shoulders. He didn’t miss the interested gleam in Black’s eyes, or the squint of lust shining in his own brother’s eyes as he gazed on their friend, the Vampyr.

A blast shook the house, tumbling all three wizards to their knees. Quick as a flash, Black was on his feet, fangs fully erupted and talons now showing where only buffed nails had been. Aberforth was crouched in a defensive position, wand at the ready, and Albus was crawling along the floor towards the large bay window.

“There’s a fire next door!” Albus jumped up and ran out, headed for the door and to help…he hoped. “Draco! We’ll need you!” he shouted.

Aberforth stowed his wand back into his chest holster and moaned as he stood up. “Nothing like the friendly neighborhood Potions Master teaching his children at home again.” He strode over and plucked Draco from the floor as if he were a feather and set the vampire on his feet. “Follow me, Draco, old man. Let us see what the Potions Purveyor did this time.” He shook his head and stroked his mutton-chops. “I might just introduce you to the youngest daughter…” He looked over and changed his mind. “…son. You’ll like him, all elbows and a lovely swan neck.”

The last thing Draco saw as he ran from the mansion was the flaming spear of wood. Aberforth’s screams and his frantic push were in vain. Albus returned from the Gaunts’ home to find his best friend dead in his brother’s arms. They buried Draco Black in the family crypt—the Malfoy family crypt—in Wiltshire and waited for…a miracle.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

**:: 1917, Moscow, on the eve of the Revolution ::**

Moscow was cold, as it always was during winter. Malfy Smok walked through the open square in front of the Palace and winced at the stench wafting off the rabble that had been drifting into the capital all day. He refrained from grabbing the perfumed handkerchief secreted in his pocket and holding it to his nose. No matter how many bodies he drank from, the smell of death—something he never got used to—should never be the _only_ scent in the breeze. Smok grimaced at the thought that the Tsar’s soldiers were far too heavy-handed in their zeal to join the Socialists.

The Vampyr shivered as the weak winter sun tried to fight past the clouds. While the sun didn’t affect him—to the detriment of Vampire hunters—he had a healthy respect for the burning ball in the sky. Smok’s steps brought him the Palace and the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Day, Dimitri Karkaroff. He slipped his wand into his hand as Karkaroff asked for his papers and _Stupefied_ him. “Betrayer!” he hissed. His fangs grew as he leaned forward to drink the traitor’s blood, none of the other soldiers doing anything but backing away from Rasputin’s henchman.

Once he’d drained Karkaroff dry, he let the body fall with a dull thud. Fangs still visible, Malfy’s piercing grey eyes sought out the next-highest-ranking soldier. The man fainted before Smok took one step, the dribble of blood down his chin painting his face and his fur collar. The clatter of running feet was drowned out by the slurping of the other soldier’s blood.

Grigory Rasputin’s primary directive had been to always protect the Tsarina and the girls. Malfy Smok had stood by his side—through the orgies, the mystical revelations induced by Dark Magic and Dark Potions, the sexual rites in the Kremlin’s dungeons—he had seen the madness descend on the charismatic wizard’s brow as the Russian world had begun to fray. But, in all that evil and loathsome miasma, he’d seen the true love and respect Grigory had for Tsarina Aleksandra and the young witches of the family. It was his duty to retrieve them and get them to safety.

“Tsar Nikolas!” Smok yelled. His voice echoed along the marble and gold halls, but no one answered. Moving as swiftly as his preternatural strength allowed, the dark shadow flowed from room to room, seeking the Romanovs. Finally, in a room hidden behind the throne, he sensed rapidly beating hearts, too many to be the family. Malfy crept forward silently and cast a spell to see through the oak door. Inside were soldiers and an officer—another betrayer—holding the Romanov family at bayonet-point.

Without a care for himself, Malfy Smok burst through the door, firing off curses and hexes. The gasps of the women and the nervous muttering of the little prince were lost in the confusion. The Vampyr worked his way around until his back was to the royal family, shielding them as he maneuvered them towards the door. An unlucky shot spun him around and a hex from above stopped Malfy’s advance, the Romanovs still behind him. Another shot, this time to the chest, bloomed with red droplets. Gasping at the pain, Malfy still cast spell after spell, trying to clear the way.

A soldier, knocked unconscious for a few minutes, found himself behind the crazy man. He thrust blindly with his bayonet and hit the man’s back. A groan like the opening of a long-sealed crypt rippled through the room, stopping everyone in their tracks. The Vampyr’s body hung suspended for a space of gasping breaths and then slid gracelessly to the floor. The soldiers regrouped and hustled the Romanovs away, kicking the dead man as they passed.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

**:: 1980, Malfoy Mansion, Wiltshire ::**

Abraxas Malfoy had kept the secret for years. Deep in an ancient crypt slept one of the undead. A special Vampyr so old, no one knew who his sire had been, or even if the Ancient One was still “living” in their world. This Vampyr had always been associated with the family, even if he’d once been a confidante of the Dumbledore Brothers. 

He looked at the body held in magical stasis on the stone altar and sighed. His beloved son, Lucius, could not father a child on the benighted Narcissa Black. Cursed by her sister, Bellatrix, for making such an advantageous match, the poor witch could only bring love to the marriage bed, something that neither family had in abundance. A child—Abraxas needed a child to pass on the family name, and Lucius needed a son to lavish his love and attention upon, perhaps even giving Narcissa something to live for.

Approaching the ancient altar slowly, reverently, Abraxas began intoning the Resurrection Ritual that would allow the Vampyr a waking life once more. Ages ago, the Vampyr clans had had much more power and many more abilities; the Resurrection Ritual had been for those Elders who wished to go to sleep, to while away their time as undead receptors, soaking in the centuries until some prescribed time of awakening. He dropped to his knees and flicked his wand, lighting the deep red candles in their silver candelabra. The glow was reflected from the mother of pearl tiles behind them, making a soothing aura for the Vampyr.

Hours later, still on his knees, Abraxas still intoned the Ritual, his voice growing hoarse with overuse. He’d heard his grandfather call the Vampyr, Draco, forward and remembered him as a boy with fangs, but a sweet child nonetheless. Finally, air rushed forward as the stasis ended and Malfoy’s voice fell silent. A slight groan, barely a quavering _aah_ , came from the body on the slab. Within minutes the Vampyr was aware and swaying on his feet.

Head bowed, Abraxas began speaking. “Lord Draco…once again, your family calls. My son…” he choked and then continued, “…my Lucius and his wife cannot bring forth an heir.” He looked up into eyes that were so much like Lucius’. “Please…would you be their son? Give them, give the family the heir we need?” The Malfoy patriarch waited with bated breath, hoping that the Vampyr could understand him so soon after awakening.

“…yeh…Yes.” The voice was rusty and the skin pale as parchment. Abraxas offered his arm, casting a cutting curse to open a vein. The Vampyr didn’t take it until the old wizard gave him permission. He was on his knees, a graceful being sipping daintily at the nourishing blood, taking no more than he absolutely needed before seeking a full feeding.

Once he’d healed Malfoy’s wound, Draco stood straight and proud, an ancient warrior in the gloom of the crypt. “A child is what you ask for, good sir. I will feed and the child you shall have. A babe of…” He quirked a sandy blond eyebrow as he thought out loud, “…blond hair, with the family eyes…Is Lucius of a height with you? No…well, then the babe shall grow from tiny stock, but he’ll be his father’s height. You know I will not remember this when I am the babe?” Draco sighed as he looked at the altar, carved with runes so old, some had worn away, telling the story of special vampires such as him.

“Take good care of me, old wizard. One day…one day I will find what I seek and I will remember all that came before.” The fangs shone in the reflected candlelight and the brush of a cloak was the only indication as the Vampyr turned to shadow and swept out to feed before becoming the baby, Draco Malfoy.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

**:: 2001, Hogwarts ::**

The Dark Lord was dead and gone, no more, _poof!_ , and Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows and watched the newest crop of students enter the halls of Hogwarts with a sneer. The little dears had barely been gleams in their parents’ eyes and here they were scampering over the rebuilt stairs and pushing past the reconfigured wards like small animals. He snorted and clipped himself on one of his fangs.

“Thamn!” he lisped as he cussed. “Bloothy inconvenient war wound.” Draco muttered and pouted, waving his wand in a negligent figure eight as he cast a silent healing charm. A curse had caught him on the side of the face, freezing it for a whole year until his Vampyr physiognomy had overcome most if not all of it, leaving him with a recalcitrant fang that erupted whenever it so choose to! Malfoy hoped to Hell that Snape’s current experiments would alleviate him of the tiresome problem soon.

“Draco! Draaa-co!” The voice screeching in his ear belonged to none other than The Chosen One, his lover, Harry Potter. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to stop by my office.” The messy hair had been barely tamed in a short queue tied with a black velvet ribbon. He had grown taller but still not as tall as Draco; no matter, he was the perfect fit against the Vampyr’s chest, warming whatever blood Draco still had within him as they hugged in the darkness. “By the way, aren’t you supposed to teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and getting the room ready for the sweet little children?” Harry’s slightly rough lips brushed against Draco’s sending a buzz of awareness along his nerves.

“Is that tooth still bothering you?” Harry’s soft voice, full of concern, was like the Balm of Gilead and dissipated Malfoy’s ire like…like _magic_. Draco knew his lover was asking something else in those words, but like the Slytherin he was, he ignored it. 

Quirking his eyebrow much like Dr. Snape, an Professor of Hogwarts, he looked down into green, verdant eyes hidden behind stylish lenses. “I’m fine, Harry. McGonagall’s recommendation and the testimony Dumbledore left for me have helped clear most of the way. My parents are still safe and I have you. What more could I wish for?”

_“I tell you, it’s Malfoy! Dumbledore’s murderer is here…in Hogwarts!”_

_“No…he’s too tall…and didn’t you read about them exonerating him? ‘Sides, he wouldn’t dare show his Death Eater face here again.”_

_“Twit! He’s got that damned poncy blond hair and the…Gasp!”_

Draco’s preternatural hearing caught every slight against him, every snide remark as the students turned towards where he and Harry stood. He sighed and stepped forward which in turn caused some of the older years to choke, stutter and fall back against the crowd behind them.

“I **told** you! See…it’s Death Eater Draco!” A young girl, long red hair in a braid down her back pointed at him, wand in her hand seemingly ready to cast some potent hex. Harry moved in front of his lover, his own wand pointed straight down, a protective spell on his lips…just in case.

“You’d do well to go into the Great Hall and get ready for the Sorting and not stand here casting aspersions.” Harry Potter’s voice wasn’t loud but everyone in the entry heard him. The girls who’d been gossiping about Draco turned sheepishly and scuttled away…Hufflepuffs by the badges Draco could see…he’d have fun with that House during classes, just see if he didn’t! The rest of the rabble drifted away, looking over their shoulders at the two men, the two myths of the Last War.

“You didn’t have to do that, Harry.” Draco voice was low as he pulled Harry’s back against his chest and hugged him. “I could have quelled their nasty little gossip easily during classes and even won a few converts to my own fan club.” He smiled when his lover’s chuckle vibrated against his breastbone. Harry’s loving “You prat!” and the wandless caress of his magic deepened Draco’s smile.

“Come on…McGonagall’s waiting for us. Since I’m your first guest speaker of the year, we have to get in there too.” Potter pulled his blond Adonis after him, passing stunned student eyes without a care. He waved at the brave souls that shouted his name, but he didn’t stop until he was standing next to Dr. Snape.

“I’ll leave you to Dr. Snape while I go sit by Minerva. Don’t topple any governments while I’m gone, okay?” Harry bowed slightly at Snape’s scowl and sent a wink Draco’s way as he turned to his own seat.

“Harrumph! I see he’s still an insufferable gloryhound.” Grey streaks peppered Snape’s hair and his left hand shook when the damage from Nagini’s venom flared up, but no one could say that almost dying had done much to change Severus Snape’s outlook on life—even after the Ministry granted McGonagall’s request for a doctorate to recognize all his hard work. His sneer was still as sharp and his voice still dripped snide indifference, but Dr. Snape had a future and a friend in his former ward, Draco. “Pass those mushy peas this way, Malfoy. Minerva’s gone off her head once more and it takes far too much energy to keep up with her fits and starts if I don’t eat a sufficient amount.”

Draco Levitated the earthenware bowl of mushy peas closer to Snape’s right hand and then summoned one of the rarer beefsteaks on the table for himself. A small spoon of peas landed on his plate as well, from Severus’ direction and he tried to ignore it. He’d hidden his vampirism for years, even from Harry, and between Severus and Dumbledore, he’d gotten through childhood with their _kind_ help. “Why thank you, Dr. Snape. Your kind efforts are making my meal so delectable,” he snarked.

“’Ware the eyes of youth, Draco,” Severus muttered out of the side of his mouth. “The little hellions are far more observant than during your years. The War made the older ones suspicious of anything smacking of darkness, and Malfoys have spent generations wallowing in that.” He took a shaky scoop of mushy peas and chewed them slowly, observing the sly glances of the Slytherin table and the wary ones of the Gryffindors, remembering that however much things changed, they never _really_ changed. “They will stalk your every move, just waiting for you to fail, to show the evil at your core.”

Harry watched his lover’s face close as the soft murmur of Snape’s voice fell and rose over the clatter of knives and forks against the china. Minerva’s Scottish burr had grown stronger since the war; she’d gone off to a coven of Lowland witches to recuperate and it showed in her voice every time she got excited now. 

“Young mon…Harry Pot-ter! Ye’ve a long look on yer phiz.” She took a deep breath and consciously concentrated on her English. “Young Malfoy will teach them what they need ta know in this new Wizarding world.” Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, looked proud at subjugating her Scottish burr for the moment. “Ye’ll visit often, I ken.” 

Harry grinned and patted her hand as he chewed. Of course he’d be visiting often! Wherever Draco was, he was definitely certain to follow! He spared a glance to his right, to the other fly in Hogwarts’ ointment: Pansy Weasley. She turned her head and sent a tight smirk back at him and returned to staring out over the students that would visiting _her_ Infirmary. George had married her after Fred’s ghost had informed the entire Weasley clan that she was carrying his child; amazingly, she and Fleur had bonded—as the best of friends and sisters-in-law–and been contributing grandchildren to the fold ever since.

“Knut for your thoughts.” The smooth silk of the voice sent goosebumps up and down Harry’s spine. He knew that tone of voice intimately since it was the one that always sent him to the Land of Nod.

“Draco…the students will hear!” he hissed, blushing like a schoolboy himself.

Smirking to himself, Malfoy leaned closer. “Potter, if they haven’t cottoned on to your not-so-sly glances, they are not going to know we sleep together.” Draco’s dry tone caused Minerva to choke on her bite of haggis—contraband shipped in by one Hermione Weasley, surprisingly—and even Pansy’s lips curled slightly. Standing straight behind Potter’s seat, Draco tapped his fingers against Harry’s throat, their secret code for _meet me in Greenhouse Three_ and left after growling at any student with the temerity to meet his grey eyes.

Draco knew Harry would be polite and it would take half an hour for him to leave the head table. He had time to run out to the other side of the Black Lake and hunt before their tryst.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

The Forbidden Forest was teeming with life. The recent war had done what it could to batter, bruise, and in some events, come close to decimating the creatures that had gravitated to the oldest, largest magical forest in the Wizarding World. There had been other vampires, poor examples of the mightiest of Dark Creatures, but during his tenure at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had wiped out his competitors until only he and one other, a venerable Ancient Vampyr, had any claim to the blood in the Forbidden Forest.

When he stepped through the doors of the castle, Draco’s nose quivered. He drew in lungfuls of sweetly-scented air, intoxicating with its blood and the subtle throbbing of the hearts that pushed it along. He had to run, putting on a burst of preternatural speed to reach the other side of the Black Lake and the cave he left his robes within when hunting. A unicorn stilled as the wind of his passage stirred its mane, pawed uneasily at the ground, and raised its head to sniff in the direction he went. One of Aragog’s many descendents scuttled up a sticky line, avoiding the only prey—other than Shiny Eyes and his cohorts—to escape their webs. Even the Giant Squid only waved its tentacles for a moment before sinking to the depths to wait for the unsuspecting Merfolk to swim by. The predators of the Forbidden Forest and their prey were in their proper places for the night.

Draco’s knowledge of the area drew him to a good hunting ground, full of deer. He fed quickly and efficiently, then flew to back to the cave. Unfortunately, his peace was shattered before he was fully dressed. “So Malfoy Junior is hiding in a cave in Scotland, is he?” lisped a voice he’d thought silenced during the war.

“Zabini,” the Vampyr said calmly. Turning around—slowly—the blond looked into the shadows by the entrance and watched a figure still hidden in the folds of a dark cowl. A scarred dark hand pushed the folds of material away only to show a hideous scowl. “I see the years haven’t treated you kindly.”

“I’d hex you, Malfoy, but I need to get into Hogwarts, and you’re my way in.” The boy that Draco had shared a school House with was a deformed creature now, twisted by the evil he’d wholly embraced. “You’ll be a convenient scapegoat when I kill the Bitch of Gryffindor and that turncoat, Snape!” The voice was threaded through with madness, rising and falling in spurts as Zabini spoke.

Buttoning his robes, Draco surreptitiously sniffed the air, searching for others and finding only his former schoolmate. “You think you can make me do anything?” He stepped forward, closer to the wand until it was against his chest. “You ran away like a frightened rabbit during the last round of battles. Even the spies had stronger stomachs and stiffer backbones!” The Vampyr’s grimace of distaste earned him a bruising prod, but he continued, “You couldn’t do anything but lick Voldemort’s boots and fuck my aunt! Gigolo, kept man, that’s what they called you…Bella’s little sweet…and you even slept with Rodolphus, didn’t you? Anything to stay away from the unpleasant bits…except for the torture…” Draco’s voice dropped to a snide purr and he turned to present himself in profile.

Buffing his fingernails and then looking at them, Malfoy’s commentary continued as he maneuvered Zabini away from the cave entrance. “From fuck toy to main interrogator, was it? I saw your handiwork, Blaise…you were a sadistic bastard far beyond the twisted evil of Voldemort. Oh, you still flinch at that name…Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort…come on, say it with me…” Draco jumped out of the way of the hex meant to part his head from his shoulders and quickly spun to his left to pull the other wizard to the floor. In moments his fangs were imbedded in the rank blood of his enemy.

Once he was done, Draco ran from the cave and fell to his knees. His body purged itself of Zabini’s blood, violently. The Dark Magic was tainted with something beyond evil, beyond corruption. His body could not contain such putrid blood or the polluted magic for very long and he screamed out in pain.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

Once Draco left, Harry had sat through dinner for another half-an-hour, making polite conversation with everyone nearby and even sharing a few quietly snide glances with Dr. Snape. He’d even escorted Minerva to her office to pay his respects to Dumbledore’s portrait. On the way down the stairs, he’d bumped into Remus Lupin and Snape arguing about the efficacious use of werewolf fur versus hyena fur. After hugging Lupin and exchanging one or two more biting remarks with Snape, he’d galloped down the stairs to find Draco.

After searching the dungeons, terrorizing the snake guarding Slytherin and rousting several cooing couples, Potter was confused. Draco always knew when he was looking for him...

“DRACO!” Harry’s yell echoed through the musty halls and he cursed under his breath. He smacked himself on the side of the head as he remembered the Marauder’s Map! Digging in his bottomless pocket, he finally felt the parchment beneath his fingers and pulled. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” The map had been expanded—by Hermione—during the war and showed the Forbidden Forest and the depths of the Black Lake as well as Hogwarts. Draco’s name was nowhere in the castle…or the lake…or—“Shit!”

Harry ran like one demented, pushing aside children and random adults on his way out of Hogwarts. Dr. Snape watched him and waved his wand, summoning the Bloody Baron. “Baron, please notify the mediwitch that she will have Draco Malfoy in the Infirmary soon. She knows what to do.” The ghost silently nodded and galloped through the wall to deliver the message. Snape strode away to search his potions’ stores for whatever might be useful.

Once outside and down the stairs, Harry skidded to a stop as he realized he needed a broom to get to Draco. He Summoned one from the direction of the Quidditch Pitch, earning shouts and imprecations, but he didn’t care. The broom was still warm from whomever’s body had been tossed off of it and the worn wood of the handgrip was a good fit for Harry. He kicked off and shot like an arrow in the direction of Draco’s cave.

A few of the students from the Quidditch Pitch had followed the purloined broom and flew after the Savior of the Wizarding World. Somehow, they all knew it was because of Draco Malfoy—he was only good for trouble, everyone knew that. They looked at each other in silence and flew in a tight formation in the same direction as Harry.

~~*~~*~~**~~*~~*~~

The smell of the vomited blood was foul and the _wrongness_ of its magic kept away the other predators. Draco hadn’t succeeded in killing Zabini, instead he’d mortally weakened the wizard when he’d sucked both the blood and magic from his body. The dying man had pulled himself along on his elbows and knees until he could see the unconscious Vampyr. Blaise licked his drying lips and began crawling again.

“Kill you…Mal…foy…” Zabini gasped out as he finally collapsed by the prone body. He pulled the wand he’d been clutching in his right hand as he’d crept along and tried to stab Draco in the chest. His first attempt slid across Malfoy’s robes, tangling in the buttons. His next attempt caught in a buttonhole as he pushed and was off-center, missing the Vampyr’s heart. By the time Zabini caught his breath and pulled at the last of his strength, Harry had arrived.

“Damn it, no!” A wandless hex threw Zabini up and off of Draco’s body. His head hit a rock as he landed and Blaise Zabini was dead at last. Dirt flew as Harry stopped suddenly and fell next to his unconscious lover’s side. “Draco? Draco, c’mon…breathe…oh god, he tried to kill you…” The brunet’s sobbing pleas were muffled against Malfoy’s chest so he didn’t hear the trailing students land.

“Get away from him, Mr. Potter!” A Gryffindor—redheaded and brash—ordered as he rushed forward. His wand was qivering in his hand even as he pointed it at the pair.

A young blonde in Ravenclaw practice robes was behind him, her wand pointing up instead of at Draco. “Please, sir, do as he says. Roland’s temper is always uncertain.” She looked sick at the thought of what such a temper could do, but still willing to back it up.

A third student—in pristine Slytherin robes—stood back, behind the first two and their cohorts. He’d been watching the scrimmage between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, looking for holes to exploit when those teams played his. He didn’t say anything but drew his wand and cast a lovely “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” in a clear voice and watched all the wands—including Harry’s and Draco’s—fly into his hand with a tight smile. Harry only smiled and kept clasping Draco to his breast, praying his lover would just wake up. 

“Dr. Snape told us the Gryffindors would jump to conclusions.” The boy’s voice was low but it still carried to Harry’s ears. “Sir? I’m sorry. I have to keep your wand until I can contact Dr. Snape.” He moved to stand between the disgruntled hero-wannabes and the two on the ground. Harry thanked him with a nod when the Slytherin glanced at them.

“Fine by me. Can you cast a Patronus?” At the boy’s grin, Harry knew why he’d followed the others; once again, a Slytherin spy would save his life, or at the very least, his heart. With a flourish, the young man shouted the spell and a silvery salmon, still wispy at the edges, manifested and flipped over and around as he gave it a simple message. “Go to Dr. Snape. Bring him back here…” He looked over at Draco’s wan face. “And bring the mediwitch, Mrs. Weasley.” The ethereal salmon did a backflip and sped away between the trees. “Now, we just have to wait a few minutes.”

“No need, Mr. Hengist. Mr. Potter is not the only one with magic.” Snape’s dry tone belied how proud he was of the Slytherin. “Now, all you dunderheads...Mr. Hengist will escort you—on foot, through the Forest—where Headmistress McGonagall will greet you and mete out your punishments. Now, go!” His imperious gesture was almost ruined by his shaking hand, but the students were too cowed to do other than be herded in front of Mr. Hegist.

Once the students were gone and Severus had cast Silencing and Warning spells, he approached Draco and Harry. “Mr. Potter, please remove yourself from Professor Malfoy’s person. I need to get close enough to administer the potions I brought.” Snape cast a Cushioning charm as he knelt by his former ward. Pulling potions bottles and soft linens from his pockets, the Emeritus Professor began listing off things Harry could do, none of which involved touching Draco.

“Dr. Snape…Severus…it’s just us here.” Harry stood to the side, mussing his hair every time he thought of how close he’d come to losing Draco. “What’s wrong with him? He’s cold, and getting colder. I saw the blood around his lips.” His voice was strained as he continued, “Did he…? I saw Zabini’s throat…the holes…”

“He’s Vampyr, a vampire to the _hoi polloi_. Abraxas Malfoy woke him when Lucius and Narcissa couldn’t…procreate. You might say Draco is the family secret.” Severus worked efficiently even though his hands were starting to spasm. In moments, it was done; Draco’s eyelids fluttered and then those grey eyes looked into green ones and Harry didn’t care.

He knelt at Draco’s side and cried into his chest. Snape merely sniffed loudly and muttered something about Gryffindors and watering pots as he gathered his empty bottles and the stained linens. “Potter…POTTER!” Snape growled. “He’s going to live. Well, as much as someone who drinks blood can. You can take him back to Hogwarts now.” Severus found he couldn’t stand up and would need help. “After you help me to my feet.”

Choking back a laugh, Harry pressed kisses all over Draco's face until he met velvety lips. When he’d convinced himself Draco would be breathing when he let go, the Auror stood up and then helped Snape up. “Sir, my wand is still with Mr. Hengist. I think we’ll need your help getting back.” He grinned what he hoped was a winning smile up at the taller man but dropped to his knees again when Draco moaned.

“Draco…hey, there…finally awake on all suits…” His words were cut off when Draco growled and pulled him in for a deep kiss that somehow ended up with Harry’s lip getting nicked by the Vampyr’s magicially-impaired fang. Draco seemed to hum when he tasted Harry’s blood and the cool touch of his magic burned off the last residue of Zabini’s tainted blood.

Malfoy felt his senses expand, as if he were shifting from wind to shadow and back again in an instant. Trust Potter’s blood to be full of life-saving, too!

“Are you two done swooning over each other?” groused a very tired Snape. “Really…I’m your elder and I should not be subjected such displays without a glass of Firewhisky in sight.”

Harry and Draco looked up at him with identical smiles, wide and carefree. “Yes, Professor,” they said together. Snape just shook his head, muttering that Gryffindors deserved to be bitten…repeatedly. Draco concurred and it was another ten minutes before they started back to Hogwarts.

§¤§¤*§*¤§¤§ 

_~~~ Comments, like rain in the desert, are greatly appreciated.  
Thank you for reading. ~~~_

  
**Timeline**

Unknown, The Time of Salazar Slytherin and the other Founders

During The French Revolution (1790)

London (1888)  
 _The year Jack the Ripper went on his rampage._

Moscow (1917)  
 _The year the army mutinied, leading to the downfall of the Romanov dynasty and the end of the feudal system in Russia._

Malfoy Mansion, Wiltshire (Southwestern Great Britain) (1980)  
 _The year Draco Malfoy is born._

Hogwarts (2001)


End file.
